


Sunglasses in the Dark (We’re on a mission from God)

by DragonNinjaAri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonNinjaAri/pseuds/DragonNinjaAri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo Harvelle doesn't expect to meet an angel that day, but then who ever does? Set pre-"Changing Channels"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunglasses in the Dark (We’re on a mission from God)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published October 16th, 2011. Hints at a Castiel/Dean/Jo relationship.

Against her better instincts, a wince escapes Jo’s lips as Ellen’s fingers brush over the new gash in her forehead. The sharp sting of the salt beneath her mother’s fingernails irritate the new wound, and she knows that, for no other reason, prompts the pain, but it’s already too late to hide it; Ellen has seen and her eyes are already studying it, already deducing the fastest way to dress and fix it up. Jo catches Ellen’s eyes darting to their supply bag -- tucked away behind an old desk, a few feet from them and the broken devil’s trap they stand next to -- and in few broad (exaggerated) steps cuts her off.

“Mom, no,” she urges. “It’s fine, just a scratch.”

The severe glare that, after twenty-some years, Jo should be immune to follows almost prompts another wince, but she prides herself on holding firm. “ _A scratch?_  You may not be able to get a good look at yourself, but I can, and that ain’t no scratch, Joanna Beth.”

Oh great. Her full name. “I’ll be good ‘til we get back to the motel, please, can we just go?”

It’s a familiar dance, even after something so simple -- simple, funny that -- as a demon exorcism. Or rather, a failed exorcism. An easy job in Oklahoma, they both had assumed. The job itself, actually, had gone rather smooth...until they had to exorcise the demon in question. Luring it to this old storage warehouse -- still filled with furniture and old boxes, forever forgotten and abandoned by their original owners -- had worked well, as did trapping it in the sigils on the floor, hidden beneath a spider-infested rug found along a wall. Halfway through the chants, however, a rusted support beam had broken, sending a shelf of old tools cascading towards the devil’s trap and breaking Jo’s concentration-- and the ritual. Ellen had managed to wound the demon and even finish the exorcism -- the vessel dead, a young one, probably fresh out of high school and on the way to a football scholarship -- but not before Jo had acquired her current cut, attempting to hold off the demon as her mother reached for the shotgun.

In terms of setbacks, this-- not exactly world-ending. They’ve  _done_ world-ending. Regardless, an injury had been attained and Jo has to deal with the fallout. So it just so happens to be a cut caused by some of the old rusted support beam. So it just so happens to still be bleeding. It can wait  _fifteen minutes_  until they get back to the motel room, away from this place where other demons could come. It makes more sense, and she can handle a little stinging. She’s handled herself before with these kinds of wounds, she  _knows_.

But no, even after a whole two years of hunting together, her mom won’t let up. Okay, so it’s better than in the start, less hovering and more trust, because she  _has_ done an exorcism before-- but still, Jo knows what she’s doing.

Or at least, she’s got more experience than her mom gives her credit for.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere until we get that head of yours looked at,” Ellen asserts, almost pushing past her daughter to their bag.

“Mom--” Jo almost starts her practiced and rehearsed  _I’m not just your daughter, I’m a hunter speech_ , the one that she’s given at least once every month for the past two years, the one where she informs her that she did several months of hunting by herself starting out and survived, the one where she asks if she’s ever going to let her grow up.

And then, a soft fluttering descends upon the room, almost like a rustle of wings, a thousand birds taking off at once and yet still so soft. Jo spins about only a second after her mother, shotgun raised in an instant to aim at a man, simple dress, shirt and tie, what appears to be a beige trench coat over his clothing.

Automatically, he raises his hands, a gesture almost shielding but also hinting a harmless nature. (Jo can’t believe it, honestly, because it’s the Apocalypse, nothing’s harmless anymore.) No one can accuse the two hunters of being too cautious, though; the man stands mere feet away from them, in a corner of the warehouse that would be impossible to reach without passing by their line of sight.

He peers at the two of them, eyes widening for a moment, and he speaks in a voice that Jo does not expect--soft, almost gentle, though gruff. “You two… You are Ellen and Jo Harvelle, aren’t you?” A quirk of his lips signals what Jo thinks to be a smile, but it’s not one, it’s not even a half-smile, it’s almost as if he’s trying to, but he doesn’t understand how. “I have heard--”

At this instant, Jo pumps her shotgun, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Gossip in the world of hunters is almost never good.

“Hold up, Jo,” Ellen warns, quickly, never taking her eyes off the stranger. Though really, by the tone of her voice, it’s like she thinks Jo would shoot the man right then; it takes everything she has not to grumble to her mother that no, she won’t go and fire off without asking a few questions. Ellen’s next words are directed to this sudden visitor, and she starts, “Now. Just who are you and how d’you know us?”

“Of course.” He lowers his hands. “You have nothing to fear. I am an angel of the Lord. My name--”

With that sentence, a second  _chung chung_  rings out as Ellen’s trained shotgun too prepares to fire.

The man -- no,  _angel’s_  -- hands shoot back up, and he quickly continues, “That likely was not the best way to start this conversation-- my name is Castiel.”

The shotgun in Jo’s hands lowers a few inches. “Castiel? ...Cas? Sam and Dean’s friend?”

Ellen glances at her daughter and then to this so-called angel in front of them, his mouth now pursed as if contemplating this question, wrinkles forming on a face that almost looks as if it shouldn’t wondering this hard about a question so simple. “Their... Yes. Yes, that’s me. I know the Winchesters.”

With this simple statement, both rifles drop their gaze to the floor, Jo’s just a moment before Ellen’s, if only because of its half-lowered position. A weird déjà vu fills the young hunter as her mother laughs, just a little, a wide smile spreading on her face. “Honey, going around like that’s likely to get you shot.”

Something -- perhaps the warmth in her voice, Jo muses -- seems to surprise Castiel, and he stares, not once blinking, at Ellen, responding after a few calculated moments, “I’m aware.” (Is it imagined, the almost pained hesitation in his face? The distance in his eyes, one of memories or long-gone times that Jo is so intimately familiar with?) “Thank you. I’ll try to remember next time.”

“You won’t need to next time,” Jo quips, feeling her racing heartbeat slow and her body relax at the knowledge that there’s an  _angel_  there with them, that they can rest for a moment. “Not with us at least.”

Castiel turns his gaze from Ellen to Jo and she’s a little struck, because there’s something very penetrating and intimate about the way he’s looking at her -- something not human and completely human at the same time. His brows furrow. His mouth twitches. Without a word, he walks right over and places a hand on her forehead, above the gash that’s dripping blood down her face and staining stray blond strands a crusty crimson. A stifled protest from her mother starts up from her left, but Jo just focuses on this odd sensation-- the pain from her head melting away, a warmth from Castiel’s fingertips that runs down to her own, everything light-- and then nothing, gone so fast that she wonders if she imagined it.

“You’re healed,” the angel explain as he steps back, though that action takes a moment. (Maybe angels don’t know about personal space.)

Sure enough, Jo raises a hand to her forehead and finds no wound, not even a scar. “Wh-- Thanks...”

She shouldn’t be surprised; he’s an angel. She’s heard wilder things than this.

“You didn’ have to do that for us,” Ellen says, and Jo almost snorts because who was it that wanted to stitch her up right there in the warehouse?

A small shake of his head answers her. “In these dangerous times, we all need to be at our best. It makes sense.” Almost as an afterthought -- or maybe it’s not, maybe it’s very carefully thought out -- he adds, “And the Winchesters have talked about you both. They trust you.”

Flattering, isn’t it, that they think much of them after all this time-- that they  _trust_  them. Questions dance on her tongue, because things weren’t exactly left in the best way, but Ellen’s a bit faster. “Well, Bobby and the boys talk about you too.” (They’ve been communicating with Bobby a lot lately, they’ve never stopped talking with him, he gives them cases just like he does all the hunters, and any time they drop by Sioux Falls it makes Jo long for the Roadhouse and a home base of their own.) “Hear you’ve been a busy guy. Not starting an interrogation, but what brings you to a little hunt like this?”

“It wasn’t my intention to meet you here,” Castiel admits, though it doesn’t sound like a higher being dismissing humans, just a simple fact. “I was...following a lead--”

“On God?” The question slips out, to be honest. Jo blames the bizarre nature of the conversation.

Castiel appears shocked for a moment, and then he sighs. “Was it Sam or Dean?” Though not as much as before, the corner of his mouth quirks again, and Jo has a sneaking suspicion that the situation, despite everything, almost amuses him.

“Bobby,” Jo replies, fighting both the urge to look at her mother and the rising taunt in her voice, if only to stop another seething look. “Don’t worry, he only told us. Us and Rufus. We’re all looking out for anything...God-like.” Honestly it seems like the  _you’ll know it when you see it_  kind of thing. Jo hopes so, at least.

“Yes,” the angel confirms to the original question. “A demon who may know something. It’s not very clear, but.” He just stops. Does he need to say the unspoken implication?  _I can’t afford not to look into it_. There’s no time to hesitate for any of them, after all.

Always straight to business, Ellen readies her shotgun again. “Well, let’s get to looking, then. We’re here so we might as well help.” She catches Jo’s eye and jerks her head first toward the dead vessel of their demon kill and then to Castiel. Years of working together and even longer living together deciphers the message in her mother’s eyes, the simple  _this first, then we’ll bury him_. Hunters always have to cover their tracks, after all. Not all of them can go across the country just dodging their record like Sam and Dean. Castiel’s frown and thoughtful expression signal he’s about to protest, but Ellen just continues, “Got any special angel powers to search the black-eyed son of a bitch out?”

A brief objection of “I don’t think--” from Castiel is cut off by Jo’s hand clapping him on the back. He stiffens, head snapping to look at her, an easy smile set in as she’s already hoisting her gun back to an upright position.

“Just accept it. We wanna. Plus, Mom’s stubborn as hell.”

A full-blown grin almost breaks out when, in an almost tired acceptance, the angel starts to say, “Hell cannot be-- No. I can’t tell right now. Accessing my abilities isn’t easy as of late.”

Jo’s just realizing healing her probably hindered him when Ellen curtly nods in acknowledgement. “Right. Then we’ll just have to spread out and look. This warehouse, right? Can’t be sure it ain’t the demon we got earlier, but if there’s any sign of another around, we’ll need to look fast. I’ll search the right half and Jo, you go with Castiel and comb the left.”

Like a spark, her words dart into Jo’s ears and send her on alert. “What, Mom--”

“Don’t you argue with me, Joanna Beth,” Ellen warns, fixing her daughter with a glare that could make a grown hunter freeze, one that she just stares down. “Magic angel healing or not, I don’t want you going off on your own. We’ll meet back up here. Radio back if you’ve found anything.”

Before any other argument can even pass Jo’s lips, Ellen’s gone, her echoing footsteps growing softer and softer by the second. A tiny frustrated groan resonates in Jo’s throat, one that she tries so hard not to voice because she’s not going to whine about this, she’s beyond that-- but still. Still, after all this time, she’s relegated to tagalong duty.

Apparently a little sound slips out, because the deep-voiced angel quietly offers, “I think the phrase is... _stubborn as hell_?”

The words out of his mouth are stiff and out of place, but perhaps because of that fact she smiles, if only a little. If she has to go doubles for demon scouting, she could have worse partners. “Come on, angel boy. Let’s get looking.”

When they had picked this warehouse to set a trap for the demon, a few factors led the two to choose it. For one, it’s on the edge of town. With a reputation -- a fake one, for the record, as other hunters have confirmed time and time again -- for being haunted, most people leave it alone until the wild teenage crowd decide to dare each other to brave its depths at night, by which business would be taken care of completely. For another, with how large and winding and cluttered the building is, it’s perfect for confusing and tripping up one not familiar with it.

Perfect, except when venturing beyond the familiar sections, the ones in which the trap lays. Less of a warehouse and more of a labyrinth, who knows what else it could hide? Thus Jo can’t dismiss the idea that somewhere in its depths a clue to Castiel’s mystery demon lay. A sneaking suspicion sits deep inside that their job and this lead actually intertwine-- and therefore that the angel arrived too late. It’s a chance, though, and if it’s a chance, they have to take it. Even if it’s a dead-end.

“Sorry ‘bout my mom.” Down another aisle of hardware, Castiel scanning the building (his eyes lingering on every little item, taking it all in), Jo speaks. “If you’d gone by yourself, this whole place’d be searched by now.”

“No,” he replies, pausing for a moment when a mouse rushes off a shelf, taking stray papers with it. “I have been traveling all day. Searching thoroughly through the entire building would be impossible, if I want to have enough strength to interrogate the demon when I find him. ...If I find him.”

This face again contorts into one that doesn’t quite fit on it, filled with so much contemplation and worry, so tired of everything. Angels are like demons in that they need vessels, Jo remembers. She wonders about the vessel who Castiel resides in. She wonders if he’s ever had to worry about something this world-changing before. She wonders if the boy whose skin that demon wore had--

A question. She needs to ask him a question, because her wandering mind about the job will be the death of her one day, she knows it. “Dean and Sam. How is it, being around them all the time?”

If only she can snap a picture of his expression: Castiel in that instant appears much like a bird with ruffled feathers. “I am not around them all the time. They are...the only humans I spend time with. It’s not easy to describe...”

Jo chuckles just loud enough for it to reach his ears. “They’re still all about the job, right? All business and brooding and all about each other?”

“Yes.” Castiel responds almost instantly. “They are each other’s worlds. It is at times...difficult to understand what they talk about.”

“This whole language,” she picks up, a tiny grin forming, “all their own--”

“Yes-- and no,” he corrects. “I’m unfamiliar with a lot of their references...”

Really, she should feel more sympathy for him than anything, but the image of Sam and Dean’s frustrated expressions as Castiel asks questions about various bits of pop culture almost sends her into a fit of laughter, a rare occurrence what with recent days. “ _That_ I would pay to see.”

An unspoken question lingers in Castiel’s eyes, but it drifts away, likely considered futile. “At times they do introduce me to human pass-times,” he added, and the laughter disappears completely.

“Like what?” But really, he doesn’t even need to speak. “Dean didn’t take you to a-- he didn’t try and get you to a strip club, did he?”

“...I believe he called it--”

She groans and her head falls into her hands. “Oh, Dean... Of course.” If she were taking an angel new to human customs under her tutelage -- something that, for the record, she’s never thought about in her life -- she would ease him into it and start much slower. “Never been the religious type, sorry, but I don’t think getting an angel drunk and putting ‘im in a porno is looked on highly.”

The first part of that declaration apparently catches Castiel’s attention, because he informs her, “I have never consumed alcohol.”

“No,” Jo utters, scandalized. For a girl who has grown up waitressing a bar her whole life, such a thing cannot be allowed to continue. “They’ve never-- they didn’t even think of giving you  _anything_? Oh, that can’t do. Next time you’re around, we’re getting you properly drunk.”

With a voice probably less confidence than the statement implies, Castiel stammers, “I am an angel of the Lord--”

“And the world’s going to Hell,” Jo finishes, this time meaning quite literally. “Give it a try. If we’ve got any time left between tryin’ to kill the devil and tryin’ not to get killed ourselves.”

She smiles just a bit wider, like she’s offering a patron a new drink or playing at her ignorant poker act, something that always gets her just the right response. They’ve stopped walking, she realizes, because Castiel’s staring with those very intense eyes -- maybe it’s an angel thing. “Alright,” he says finally, studying her for a moment longer before they continue their search. “It may help to understand.”

Understand. Understand those boys? No, Jo doesn’t think anyone can ever really understand them. Not like each other. They can get close, that’s for sure. But not completely. Still, talking to them for the first time in so long and having them a phone call away-- that’s nice. Lasting friends in the hunter world often fade with the rolling dust or the setting sun.

“Keep an eye on those guys, will ya?” Turning down another aisle, another long, dark tunnel of rust and decay, the left behind and forgotten. “It’s good for them, to have someone else around to watch their backs.”

“Of course.” Their voices match, both soft and both solemn. “They are... They’re important.” Another unspoken--  _to me_.

“Yeah.” Jo can place the hesitation from earlier now; how odd must it be for him, to consider humans friends? How must this world seem? He’s different. He doesn’t fit in. In a world he doesn’t understand-- like every hunter trying to adjust to normal life, in a way. Friends don’t stay for long. Maybe they can both fix that for each other. Having a friend that’s an angel-- that might be kinda nice, right?

The quiet unnerves her. She disrupts it after not even five minutes.

“This mission of yours. You really think you’re gonna find God?” Someone that Jo hasn’t though existed for years. She can’t remember when she stopped believing, but one day God and Heaven and angels-- well, monsters and demons and spirits became real, and they became the bedtime stories. Now she’s talking to angel. Funny, that.

“I must. My Father is out there, and I’ll find Him.” A soft desperation lies beneath his gravely tone far too deep for the body he inhabits. “He will know what to do to stop this.”

Ghosting a smile, Jo mumbles, “Yeah, dads tend to.” Would he be proud of her? How many monsters she’s killed? How many people she’s saved? This life isn’t much, but she loves it, dirt and blood and pain and all. Would her father approve? “Hope you can. It’d be nice to catch a break, yeah? Demons on one side, killer angels on the-- oh, sorry, I didn’t--”

“It’s alright.” Still, in his voice the longing she heard before rings true. “My brothers and sisters... They are out of line. We are to protect the humans, not let them die. They’ll see, one day. When our Father returns, He will set it right.”

It’s bad for them-- but his whole family’s fighting, in one way. “If more thought like you did, we wouldn’t need that kind of miracle.”

Another turn, another twist in the maze, and the silent knowledge that this lead probably doesn’t exist. Still, they keep walking. They continue to talk, the darkness and the low afternoon sun painting the conversation, blacks and reds and only the brightest colors enhanced. The world around them is dim, but her hair, his eyes, the flesh on their bones, all caught by the yellow lights of autumn.

This time, it’s Castiel that breaks the silence, though this time it lasts but a fleeting moment. “You remind me very much of my sister.”

Really, the gentle tone in his voice should signal this as a compliment, one that she should accept with a hardy  _thank you_  but almost on reflex Jo’s pensive face contorts into a grim grumbling glower as she spits out, “Oh, of  _course_  I do.”

The venom in her voice stops Castiel in his tracks, a small flinch in his step as he looks at her with his surprised stare. (Perhaps there’s more of Ellen in her than she realizes, she’ll later reflect.) “I’m sorry. I meant it to be complimentary. I didn’t realize it implied anything other--”

Tired and guilty -- and wondering how her mind could possibly compare an angel of the Lord to a kicked puppy -- Jo cuts him off with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head, half-moaning out, “No, no don’t. It’s okay. I get that a lot. Not...your sister, just...never mind.”

It’s not just Dean; no, it’d be stupid if after all these years that still bent her so much out of shape. It’s everything. It’s being a little girl instead of a hunter, instead of a  _person_. It’s everyone that’s known her as just little Jo, just Bill and Ellen’s daughter, just the girl from the bar-- it’s that even now, she’s not an adult.

“I only meant,” Castiel continues, his voice somehow soothing in its half-bewildered state, “that you possess the same...spark as she does. The same fire.” Jo’s bitter thoughts sharply turn to a stunned disbelief and hunger to know more. “Ana-- Anna fell,” he explains. “She lived a life as a human, but when she had to...she gave it all up. She returned to being an angel. She helped the Winchesters and encouraged me to open my eyes to the truth around me. Truly...our Father’s child. She is a true servant of the Lord, loving his finest creation more than any of the rest of us, so much that she would give up what she wants to keep them safe.” Unlike before, they have continued walking, slow and steady. “There is a strength in you that I can see that reminds me of her.”

“Thanks. I mean it. Thanks.” A crack in her voice and a bright smile, more gratitude than she can possibly ever convey rippling through her. “If we’ve got another angel on our side--” And she clears her throat, continues on, not one for sentimental moments, not ones that linger too long. “I’d sure like to meet her one day.”

All the wrinkles -- from thought, for it seems this face shifts into that a lot -- slide on to his face, one after the other, brows first, then cheeks, nose, until he looks-- not old. Not the kind of wrinkles that come from age, but the kind from stress, maybe. So many hunters look older than they are. Maybe it’s the same with him, when he frets; whatever the reason, Jo can tell for sure, Castiel is tired.

“You...cannot.” Her eyes dart from him to the shelves, an effort to pretend like either of them think there’s any chance at finding something worthwhile. “I made a mistake. She tried to make me listen to her, but I was...misguided. In the end, I found my way, but not before I--...she is restrained in Heaven. I cannot reach her.”The wrinkles disappear; he has replaced them with his impassive expression, one that Jo’s starting to realize is anything but. “I pray that she will still be...her when I finally can.”

Unspoken questions and unspoken answers, drifting on the dust between them, carrying the implications of Castiel’s words. For all intents and purposes, they are perfect strangers, having only heard of each other by-proxy until this day, and yet.

“Hey. You said yourself. She’s strong, right?” Another smile -- because at a young age, Jo learned one smile can infect all those around, just like tears or pain. Smile more. Maybe others will too.

Again, his lips quirk into something not exactly like a smile. Not a full one, anyway. Jo wonders what it looks like, when he smiles. Another goal for if they survive the apocalypse, she supposes. Big goals for hunters often turn out unrealistic, given the unpredictability of the job, so little ones reassure.

“Yes. She is.” They’ve reached the end of yet another aisle, and instead of turning down the next one like they have for-- not more than ten minutes, right?-- instead they stop, dying light reflecting on a dirty, broken mirror, little lightshows painting the ground.

“We should head back, shouldn’t we?” Jo’s the one who asks. Castiel nods.

“It looks like we’ll find nothing here.”

Unspoken volumes.

“Take care of Sam and Dean,” Jo starts as they make their way down the long row alongside the aisles, “but take care of yourself too. Don’t wanna have the next call from the guys start with talk about how we’ve killed our angel.”

 _Our_  slips out, and she almost takes it back, before Castiel nods again, impassive expression staring forward. Dust billows behind them -- this must be a very old part, Jo assumes -- as his trench coat -- she thinks it’s a trench coat at least -- catches it, and she figures they would make an odd sight if anyone just so happened to discover them there: A tall serious yet questioning man in a long coat and a petite blond with muscles and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. An angel and a hunter, more specifically.

“I will remind them to check in,” Castiel tells her. “Ellen doesn’t seem like the kind to like to be made waiting.” Jo snorts back a laugh, realizing that he is completely serious when he adds, “Neither of you do.”

She shrugs it off idly, saying, “Once Mom adopts someone, they’re stuck in the family for life. Just kinda happens. We like to keep in touch with family. You’d think they’d realize that, huh? Good luck with Dean, he can be a pain to deal with.”

“A pain. Yes, he can be.” Yet both say it relaxed; Jo with a roll of her eyes and Castiel with a fond sort of wonder. Family can be difficult sometimes. It seems like, though, he’s of the same opinion of her, that she doesn’t mind Dean’s stubborn disposition and Sam’s at times hesitance.

How much have they changed in the last few years? A few quick checked conversations aren’t enough to gauge anything--

Castiel’s talking to her. “Sorry?”

“I want to thank you for your company,” he repeats. “Though it was through Ellen’s insistence, it was a nice experience. I think I enjoy  _small talk_.”

Jo makes a mental note to tell Dean next time: Castiel needs a slang dictionary. If he’s going to be around -- a little hope, no one else has any, she’ll be reasonable when they’ve all gone off the deep end, she decides -- after all this is done, he’ll need to brush up. “I can check it off that big To-Do list I have, spend an afternoon waxing philosophic with an angel.” She feels the need to clarify-- “That was--”

“Sarcasm. I’m catching on.” Something tells Jo that’s an exaggeration, but he sounds so proud that she decides against discouraging him. “Regardless. Thank you, Joanna.”

“Yeah, no-- wait, what?” Again she stops, an eyebrow raised to her hairline and her hands on her hips. This time she doesn’t wait for a prompt. “ _Joanna_?” It’s almost amusing. Almost, if she didn’t associate her full given name with her mother’s wrath.

Thus another moment in which Castiel remarkably resembles an animal -- a deer in the headlights, as cliché as it is -- as he looks down at her with tilted head. “Your mother earlier called you that-- it’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Well,  _yeah_ ,” she concedes, “but I like Jo better.” A bit of a blank stare -- nicknames for angels, are they a commonality? Probably not. “Look, the guys, they call me Jo, right? And Mom does mostly as well. It’s...as much for convenience as--” Her eyes light up. “It’s like with you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Dean calls you  _Cas_ ,” Jo explains. “It’s what friends do, a lot. Familiarity. Affection. That stuff.”

Castiel drops his gaze for a moment, but then he nods. “...Thank you. I understand. Jo.”

She begins their walk again, a ridiculous amount of pride swelling inside her. “Don’t sweat it. You don’t probably have someone ‘round who wants to explain all this stuff, right? Sam and Dean like to focus on the job before anything else. Don’t get me wrong, I do too, but-- not every day you’ve got an angel around. ...Well, not for most people.”

“ _Jo_?” The walkie-talkie on Jo’s hip buzzes to life, Ellen’s voice crackling out into the warehouse.

She snatches it up. “Here, Mom. What? You found something?” She berates herself for a moment; what if the lead is here? What if she distracted Castiel and in reality they missed something.

The few seconds of worry and self-doubt fade when Ellen answers, “ _No, big load of nothin’. I’ll be heading back to the meeting place. Sorry to say, Castiel, but I get the feelin’ that it’s a dead-end._ ”

Jo and Castiel’s eyes meet. She moves the walkie-talkie closer to him so he can respond, “It’s alright. I have that feeling myself.”

“We’re on our way, Mom. Meet you there.”

No more conversation takes place between them, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence that they walk in. As they walk, Jo amends her earlier thought; maybe it wouldn’t look so odd to see them walking alongside each other after all.

They reach the meet up before Ellen, but not too much. Despite her age, Ellen Harvelle has never been one for dawdling, Jo reflects. Supplies gathered and the promise of a body to dispose of -- she had almost forgotten, through the desire to simply not focus on the failure of the day’s hunt -- the two women move swiftly as Castiel, for some reason, lingers. He kneels by the boy, places a hand to his pale forehead...and vanishes. Only for a moment, as his low voice declares from behind her, “I have taken care of it.”

Almost dropping the bag she’s holding and biting back a shocked cry, Jo spins around to see Castiel only feet from her. “Jeez, Cas, a little warning?”

Do his lips quirk again? Is he amused? Well,  _fine_.

Ellen hikes her own bag of supplies over her shoulder. “Well, thanks, hon. We could’ve handled it fine, but it’s appreciated. We shouldn’t keep you, enough wasted time, but drop by sometime, if you’ve got a spare moment, would you?”

Castiel nods and looks between them, hesitating for a moment before opening his mouth and very earnestly saying, “Of course I will. And it was not wasted.”

One second he’s there and the next he’s gone, so quick that Jo has to rub her eyes, just in case they’re playing tricks on her.

A half-smile of her own, Ellen lets out a single pleased laugh. “Well, for an angel he seems like quite a friendly guy.”

Finally diverting her gaze from the empty spot where Castiel had stood, Jo sighs and smiles. “Yeah. He really does.”

Angels, she has decided, baffle and confuse her, but this one isn’t too bad, as far as they go. He’s actually kind of nice. This angel, she has decided, she’ll get to know better before all this is done.

Seems like it could be a fun goal.


End file.
